


Call Me Christopher

by allthetrek



Series: A Stranding, A Crash Landing [3]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 22:18:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18949768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthetrek/pseuds/allthetrek
Summary: Captain Pike and the reader get stranded on a Class L planet. With no guarantee of rescue, they must adapt to life together in their new environment. Eventually, formalities and professional boundaries fall away, leaving room for a more personal connection to flourish.





	Call Me Christopher

Between the attack and the crash landing, your ship has been heavily damaged. You were able to salvage the deuterium fusion reactor grid, which will sustain the ship’s basic systems for some time. Unfortunately, the subspace transceiver was damaged irreparably, as were all systems needed to fly yourselves off this rock. You can’t get a message to Starfleet, and the small distress beacon you were able to cobble together can only be picked up within a few light years.

Long story short, you might be here for a while. It’s been two days now, and you’ve been subsisting on ration packs and electrolyte fluid. Maybe tomorrow you can get the replicator back online. You help the Captain up to a sitting position on the cot, the same place he’s been confined to since the crash. His wound isn’t healing well; he’s pale and clammy, his usually flush skin now pallid and worrisome.

He grunts as you help to adjust him, and you sit across from him on your cot, picking up two ration packs. “What’ll it be tonight, Sir, meatloaf and mashed potatoes or chili and cornbread?” you ask, genuinely curious as to what he’ll choose. You’ve served with the Captain for some time now, yet you’ve never gotten to know him in a more personal sense. The synergy between you was evident almost immediately when you’d met. Your values seem to align perfectly: your dedication to Starfleet, your sense of duty and honor, your compassionate nature. There’s a reason he picked you for this mission. Though what his reasons are, you’re not entirely sure, since he still has not told you what your precious cargo is. The cargo that almost cost you your lives, and stranded you here on this lonely planetoid.

The mysterious containment pod remains in the cargo hold, hooked up to the power grid, ever so slowly sapping your deuterium reserves to keep whatever’s inside in suspended animation. You dare not ask questions about it. If the Captain isn’t telling you what’s in there, he’s got a damn good reason. You have to respect his authority, and you have to respect whatever relationship boundaries he prefers, so long as you’re stuck here together.

As much as you know it’s probably best to keep a professional distance between you, you can’t help but feel a certain chemistry with the Captain. You won’t admit it to yourself just yet, but you want to know more about him. You want to know everything about him…

“You pick, Lieutenant,” he replies passively, snapping you out of your thoughts and back to reality. Did he just put emphasis on “Lieutenant”? Have you been getting too chummy with him? You can’t imagine he’s gotten that impression from you, and it’s probably just your imagination… You glance down at the two small, foil packets in your hands, making your choice and handing the other to the Captain.

The two of you eat in silence, and you savor each bite of your meal. You keep reminding yourself that things could be a lot worse. At least the two of you are relatively safe and more or less comfortable in here. Speaking of worse, though… The Captain finishes his meal, his body progressively listing to one side as weakness overcomes him. He’s not doing well at all. You help him back down and grab the medical tricorder, scanning him again. He’s deteriorated since this morning. Scans show he’s got a bad infection, though you hardly needed a tricorder to tell you that.

You carefully change the bandage on his wound, your heart stinging every time he winces at your actions. You hate causing him pain. You give him a hypospray cocktail, leaning over the cot to inject it into his upper arm. Before you can pull away, his hand comes up to gently grasp your forearm.

“Lieutenant…” he states softly, “I just want to say… Thank you. For everything. You’ve done a commendable job, given the circumstances.” He looks weakly up at you, one corner of his mouth turning up in an appreciative, lopsided smile. His words surprise you, but they are music to your ears.

“I… You’re welcome, Sir,” you stammer in response, returning his soft smile.

He releases your arm and you straighten up, still gazing down at him. “Call me Christopher. Or, Chris,” he states, his voice weak but sincere. “We might be stuck here for a while. Let’s dispense with the formalities, shall we?” He winks at you, and you feel a jolt surge through you. Even in his weakened state, the man is getting to you, in the most incredible way you can imagine.

“Alright, Sir, ah, I mean… Christopher,” you reply, smiling as his name floods from your lips, the syllables sounding so strange, yet so… Right. “Then, please, call me [Y/N].”


End file.
